Yandere Aemond - Tumblr Posts

Did Aemond unintentionally left the cell door open or was he just being a loser and a dumb? 

Also, been craving for some AemondxReader interaction..

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Aemond beating the fuck out of Aegon shouldn't have made me as horny as it did but.... here we are. World building for this fic is so much fun.... I'm considering doing an occasional Aemond POV chapter on the side, what do you guys think?

Chapter 36: Flea Bottom

It felt like time stood still.

Your eyes were locked on the open cell door.

Lungs seized and pulled in a greedy breath. Shakily pulling yourself up to stand, you stumbled back, the twinging in your side making you grow dizzier by the second.

Your eyes tunnelled, black seeping into the edges of your vision as your heart raced whilst you stood, leaning heavily against the damp wall behind you. 

Shutting your eyes, you breathed in deeply. In for three, out for three. Your vision began to settle.

Six steps was what it took for you to reach the open door of your cell.

Six steps more were what you took as you exited the iron bars. 

If it was a trick, then you would soon find out. Aegon was cruel, and Aemond calculating. Perhaps they were waiting for you outside to mock your efforts and tease you of your naivety. You can imagine Alicent, stone faced beside them as they gloated.

The original ring leader.

Yet despite the risk, you still took it.

Each step caused your side to ache and your head to spin, though you pushed yourself through it, forward down the dark corridor. Your ears listening for the sound of guards or the King and Prince above.

You heard nothing and pressed on, reaching the steps. 

You lifted a foot and placed it on the cold stone before pulling yourself up the first step and began to count as you ascended the stairs.

One.

Two.

Three.

Your feet were numb from the cold and you sniffled quietly as your heart raced in your chest, one hand clutched tightly against your side to sooth it. Your foot lifted before it paused midair. You raced back down the three steps, into your cell, hand digging roughly into the straw bed before your fingers found the cold steel. 

Snatching the broach, you raced back across the room, feet slapping gently against the tiles as you began to dart up the stairs, a headache steadily blooming as you clutched your side in pain. You wound up the steps rapidly as you desperately tried to steel your breaths.

In and out. In and out. 

As you wound up and out of the dungeon, more light came into the space from the torches on the wall. Your hand reached out to grab one out of instinct before you snatched your hand back.

You could not be seen. 

Soon you reached the top of the stairway, before you snuck out into the darkness of the open halls. You ran silently, sliding against the wall as you raced away from the dungeons below you. All was quiet in the space as you tried to catch your breath and gather your bearings. 

Where were they?

Were they hiding in wait for you?

It felt oddly nostalgic, hiding and running in the dark from your uncles, however this time far more sinister than the 'hide 'n' go seek' games you would all play as children.

Your eyes rapidly searched about, catching on the open expanse of a courtyard. You were near one of the servants' paths down to the exit of the Red Keep, along the side, out of sight, out of mind. Your feet dragged you to the path as you began to rapidly dart down the stairs towards Flea Bottom.

Before you, the sky was dark and small lights could be seen in the commoners city below the Keep. Small yellow orbs glowed in windows and paths, illuminating the smaller buildings and houses. You descended the stairs, hand still clutched at your side whilst the other gripped the stone below it. 

You needed an out, somewhere to hide, or flee, anywhere but in the Keep, though you knew as soon as your absence was noted, the entirety of the Kings Guard would descend upon Flea Bottom until they found you.

No matter the cost. 

Could someone die from their heart exploding in their chest? You were sure you had heard stories of it before. Men's hearts that fluttered in their chest so fast and so hard that suddenly it stopped. Your heart felt like it was trying to escape your rib cage.

As you wound down the stairs, the Red Keep loomed behind you, becoming further and further away, and down below, the sounds of Flea Bottom became louder. 

Jovial voices called out to friends or loved ones, jagged singing came from another and lusty moans from the darkened alley ways curled out into the open space. You raced towards it, finally away from the stairs and down the path towards the narrow streets, lined with a sea of people. 

Some eyes caught yours, looking at you curiously before others looked away, going back to their entertainment, whereas few watched you closely. You knew that if you were recognised, they may descend on you, taking you back to the King in the hopes of a reward.

You needed a disguise. 

You barged your way through the crowd as you ran, hair flying wildly behind you as you began to feel sick from lack of breath and the agony that still rolled through you in waves, made worse with every step.

Ahead of you, a line of robes were hanging on a line, drying after they had been washed. You slowed your step and jumped up, snatching a faded black cloak from the line. 

A person cried out in protest as the cloak came down into your hands, “Oi!” They yelled. 

You did not turn back as you ran faster, pushing your legs towards a dark alleyway to turn into as you ran through the streets without knowing where to go. You felt like a mouse in a trap, running blindly without any idea of escape. 

Your legs ached as you pushed forward, though your speed faltered as you breathed heavily, feeling faint. You slipped into a dark corner of an alley as you swept the cloak over your shoulders and head, covering your hair and casting a deep shadow across your face. 

It was unbearably hot as your heart raced, sweat dripping down your brow, as you tried to catch your breath. The pain in your side throbbing with every pump of blood your heart made. You bent forward to suck in a ragged breath, your throat so dry your tongue felt like sand.

Breathlessly you gagged once more, the nausea from running, from the pain and from the sheer horror of the experience, bubbling its way up your throat, though nothing came out. 

You're wasting time. Move.

You pushed yourself away from the wall and back out into the busy street. The streets stunk of waste and unclean bodies as you passed. The smell was pungent in your nose, almost enough to make your eyes water. 

You walked briskly in the sea of bodies. Men and women drank freely on the street as children wandered aimlessly around them. A woman sat on a wooden chair, eyes milky as she told people's futures. You had never been in Flea Bottom before, and suddenly you realised, Aegon did.

Often.

Aegon knows these streets, he knows these people. He frequents the Silk Lanes, and Flea Bottom and has sired dozens of bastards here. You knew it. They all knew it.

Even the Queen knew it.

He would know his way through here.

This made you panic more.

You looked around in desperation until you saw a small boy standing against a wall, watching the people around him. You stood still, blinking as you looked at the boy whose brown hair messily sat on his head. You blinked again. It was not Lucerys. You felt your body gravitate towards him, feet stumbling in the dark as he watched you come towards him.

As you stood in front of the boy, you looked at him up and down. His hair sat chaotically on his head, loose greasy curls that came down below his ears going in all different directions. He wore a cream coloured shirt that was dirty and crumbled against his body and brown breeches beneath them. His shoes were old and worn, covered in mud.

He would be no older than Lucerys was.

The boy looked at you in annoyance as you gawked.

“What?” He asked gruffly, looking you up and down.

You paused, then blurted out, “Where are the docks?”

You swayed on your feet, feeling fatigue begin to catch up on you, your adrenaline slowly running out.

The boy frowned at you, as if it was a stupid question.

Fuck.

But as you started to panic that you had given yourself away, the disgruntled youth sharply nodded his head upwards, pointing away from you down the path to your side. You nodded you head in thanks, and as you moved swiftly to follow the path, the young boy muttered under his breath.

“Fucking drunk.”

You breathed a breath of relief and moved down the crooked street. The ground below you was dirty, with the stale stench of piss and vomit bathing the air around you. The further you walked down the street, the further away you got from the crowd. Now only a few straggling people were sat in the shadows, talking to each other lowly, or in one case to themselves. 

The houses were squished together, and the further you walked the more poverty stricken it became. The bricks were made of reddish and pale stones, though the further down you went, the more the houses came to be made of wood. Crude huts that leant awkwardly, with washing drying on lines above you. 

How could the people live like this? In such poverty? How did no one see? How did no one do something?

You pushed on, weaving through the hanging clothes until the air got less dense, and the path widened. The sound of men talking ahead of you made you slink to the shadows again, hiding in the darkness as you snuck down the street.

Ahead of you were the docks, with a large trading ship moored against the wood, a path on its flank for those to walk along the ship, large planks letting those wander back and forth on the boat. They were loading the ship.

Your eyes flicked across the men on the dock. There were more than 20 crew, and two kings guards talking to a man you could only assume was captain. You pressed your back against a shack and breathed in. You needed to not be seen, for if you were caught, you would no doubt be recognised by the guards.

You pulled the hood of the cloak further over your face casting your eyes downwards as you swayed with your step. The young boy thought you were a drunk, now was time to play the part.

If any crew was to see you sneaking around in the shadows they would immediately become suspicious, but not of a drunken commoner stumbling about the dock. You would simply be overlooked. Your bare feet were caked in filth and legs were dirty from days without bathing, the cloak barely covered your shins as you shivered in the pale moonlight. 

You walked out of the shadows along the side of the dock, making sure you swayed and stumbled as you had watched Aegon do many times before.

Drunken fuck.

As you swayed towards the dock, you saw large crates and barrels, some empty and some full. Your hand reached out to touch one of the barrels when a booming voice split the air.

“Oi!” The man yelled and you yanked your hand back, “Get away from there.” He growled at you, before turning back to the guards who didn’t spare you a second glance. One of the guards muttered beneath his breath about drunken peasants. You looked at the barrels again before you ducked down behind them.

Breath in. Breath out. 

With your free fingertips you grazed your hands along the wood of a crate, the dark oak chipped and worn from use over the years. A net was half hazardously tossed over the top, its rough thread rubbing against your side as you moved along the creates, ears listening for crew coming back. 

Looking between a gap through the crate and a barrel you peered at the guards and the captain, their bodies facing away from you as they chatted. The captain seemed relaxed and familiar with the two guards. Perhaps they did this often, or grew up together. 

You snuck behind the barrels as you heard footsteps begin to descend from one of the planks coming towards you. You began to panic again. It would definitely cause suspicion if you were caught hiding amongst the barrels and crates. You had to think quick and fast.

Your hand nudged the barrel beside you. It was heavy, but shifted slightly under your hand. It was empty. The footsteps came closer now and you realised with great dread that it was too late. To stand and crawl into the crate now would be to be spotted, you imagined the guards descending on you and taking you straight back to Aegon where he could finish what he started.

You felt frozen in your spot as the footsteps got closer. Your breath caught in your throat as you steadied yourself to be caught. Perhaps you could make a run for it.

“John!” The captain's voice barked across the dock.

The footsteps stopped.

You held your breath as the footsteps faded away from you, as John went to the captain and guards began to whisper to them in hushed tones. Your ears picked up as you listened carefully.

“…escaped…be on the look out…if you see…” 

Your heart pounded in your ears.

They knew you had escaped.

You needed to act now.

Sneaking up, you pulled the lid from the barrel carefully watching the guards and two men in front of you, before dipping one leg, and then the other inside. The barrel top was held in your hands as the man named John began to turn around. You watched in horror.

Please Gods, favour me.

But one of the guards caught his attention again, stepping closer to talk to both the captain and crew member. With this pause in their attention, you shoved yourself the rest of the way into the dark barrel, lightly placing the lid above you. 

You held your breath inside, out of fear they would hear you and you tucked yourself into a ball. The barrel was tight as you sat inside, your knees roughly brushing against the wood. The squeeze made your side ache painfully as the skin was pulled taut in an odd direction. Your hand was clenched on your side still, inside your palm the three headed dragon broach. 

You felt the rough edges in your palm as you listened to the footsteps begin to approach you. Each step got louder, the vibration of its weight tickling the barrel underneath you. You sucked in a silent and short breath as the feet stood in front.

Hands pressed to the outside of the barrel pulling you sideways. You felt yourself tip towards the side and shot your hands out to catch yourself before your head could collide with the other side. The man above you grunted. 

“Gods.” He muttered as he hauled the barrel up in his arms.

Your head spinning in the dark as you could not tell which way was up. That same nausea built inside of you, making your stomach turn in knots and skin become sticky. 

With every step the man took, the barrel shook you. The steps were loud on the dock's wood until he walked atop the plant, the footfalls sounding more hollow than before. You held your breath as you were rattled around inside, desperately trying to stay upright so as to not knock against the sides.

Then suddenly you were heavily placed on solid ground once more. You listened as the man's footsteps faded away, walking up what you assumed were the same steps you came down. They echoed until there was nothing. 

You finally allowed yourself to breathe, listening for sounds of other men nearby. You sat in the barrel and waited, feeling the slight sway of the boat's hull on the water as it rocked you gently back and forth. The man came back several more times, sometimes alone, sometimes with others, as you listened to them place other crates and belongings into what you now knew was the hold of the ship.

You slumped against the edge of the barrel in exhaustion. Eyes beginning to close as you could barely hold them open any longer. You pulled the cloak around you tightly as your legs cramped from being curled up so long.

You would have to wait it out.

No matter how long it took. 

The barrel offered a small comfort of protection as it cocooned you in its rough arms. The broach was still firmly pressed against your side as you let the gentle sway of the ship lull you into a deep sleep, adrenaline finally running out.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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Her Father's Daughter

Father! Aemond/Daughter! Reader

note: idk he would be the biggest girl dad ever

warnings: yandere content, platonic relationships, bullying, usual targaryen weirdness, readers mother is rhae's daughter, so, she's a strong, toxic relationship between aemond and his wife, au where he survives the war, older! jaehaera is here bc I love her sm,

┍━━━━━━━ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗━━━━━━━┑

From the moment his daughter had left her mother's womb, Aemond had adored her.

There was no love between Aemond Targaryen and Alyssa Velaryon. After the war was won, they were married to keep the peace and keep Alyssa and her two living brothers alive. However, their marriage was cordial, and they didn't exactly hate each other. Their daughter was the product of the consummation, and while they didn't love each other, they loved their sweet girl unconditionally.

Despite the amazing relationship (Name) has with her mother, she ends up being extremely close with her father, the Prince Regent. Aemond dotes on her as if she held the entire world in her hands. His little girl was as Targaryen as they came, with her white hair and dark amethyst eyes. She enjoyed learning the history of her family and enjoyed nothing more than to go flying on her dragon (one that had survived the storming of the dragon pit).

However, little (Name) Targaryen was too much like her father sometimes. She was introverted and closed off when it came to the other children of court. She was not especially well liked by the other children, though this was only known to the princesses older cousin, grandmother, and mother.

Alyssa Velaryon, however, did not appreciate the saddened expression her daughter wore whenever she came back from the gardens. Children could be so cruel. She knew this all too well, and she is reminded of how Aemond was treated by her brothers when they were children. It is Alyssa's belief that Aemond deserves a painful life. However, her precious daughter deserved nothing but happiness. She decides to bring the entire situation to her husband's attention.

"Husband."

"Hm..?"

This is usually how their conversations go, with Alyssa speaking and Aemond barely acknowledging her. However, this would be different, considering it was about their daughter.

"It is about (Name), she has been having some difficulty with the other children at court, and I am quite worried," Alyssa says, her eyes burning into Aemond as he finally looks up from his book. He narrows his one good eye at her. That's her cue to continue. "The other children pick on her, they call (Name) 'the Kinslayers daughter'... it upsets her greatly, Husband."

At this, Aemond slams the tome shut, shooting up from his chair, the mahogany scraping against the stone floor with a viciousness that made Alyssa's ears sting. She clutches her arms as she stares at the man in front of her. She held no love for Aemond, but she couldn't help but adore how he loved their daughter.

"I will not stand for our daughter to be bullied as you were when we were children... Aemond."

He let's out one more 'hm' before leaving the room to search for his daughter.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

When he finds her, (Name) is happily reading in the library with her older cousin, Jaehaera. The two girls sit comfortably in silence as Jaehaera reads some fairytale and (Name) reads the tome on Aegon's conquest. Jaehaera notices Aemond first, the older girl nodding her head at her uncle as she gets up to leave, her emotionless face almost tender as she pats (Name) on the head, bidding her goodbye.

(Name) looks up from her book, noticing her beloved father standing near her reading spot. She smiles widely, popping out of her comfortable position nestled in her fluffed cushions to bound up to the tall man. She was short, only being eleven years of age, so she wrapped her arms around her father's waist to hug him. He smiles softly, running his finger over her temple, a gesture that he has always made towards his daughter, even when she was a baby.

"Father! I'm not a baby anymore!" She would say, but Aemond never paid her any mind.

She would always be a child to him.

"Ñuha darling riña, eman mirros naejot epagon ao." My darling girl, I have something to ask you.

(Name), much like her father, was fluent in High Valyrian. However, her mind sometimes wandered, and she had a hard time getting the words out, so she often just responded in the common tongue.

"Yes, Papa? What is it?"

Her voice was so sweet and soft, like a small kitten or bird. His gaze immediately softened, and Aemond almost regrets the threats that he sent towards those boys.

"Those boys, from house Lannister and Baratheon, they won't be bothering you anymore, Dōna riña." Aemond says this as softly as his voice would allow. The shocked expression on her face was enough for Aemond to know that he hadn't gone to his brother for no reason.

They had been hurting his daughter, and to Aemond, that was unforgivable.

"Father-" "Come now, let us read together."

Aemond settled his large frame onto the cushions where she often read. This little space in the library was due to his brother. Aegon was far from a good person, but he had done many things to make sure his daughter and niece were happy. Jaehaera and (Name) were quite close despite the young heiress' emotionless disposition.

Family was a sparse thing now, so you had to keep them as close as possible.

(Name) sits next to her father, smiling faintly as he picks up her tome on Aegon's Conquest. Aemond turns to the pages that contain Rhaenys, who was (Name)'s favorite historical figure. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, coddling her as he read.

These were the moments Aemond lived for.

girl dad targaryen men are real, GRRM told me so

I've been in an aemond mood lately